


More Than Meets the Eye

by Aurrus



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: High Heels, M/M, Personal Assistant Rhys (Borderlands)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurrus/pseuds/Aurrus
Summary: Yvette thinks Rhys couldn't spend a whole day walking around in high heels; Rhys is up for a challenge, and Jack is in for a surprise.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands), Rhys & Vaughn & Yvette (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 155





	More Than Meets the Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the NSFW part of [Rhack Zine](https://twitter.com/Rhackzine), although there's barely any smut, sorry!

“Ugh, _finally_ , I hate these so much!”

“Hello to you too, Yvette,” Rhys retorted drily, barely flinching at the way Yvette threw her stilettos off with vengeance as soon as the door slammed shut behind her. “How was your day?”

Vaughn just snorted and took the opportunity to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl held captive in Rhys’ lap, not even bothering to comment. Both of them were too used to their friend’s occasional flair for dramatics to feel concerned. 

Not that Yvette was the dramatic kind – all of them, Rhys included, would agree that Rhys was much more of a drama queen – but there were certain topics that could get her going like nothing else.

“Ugh,” she repeated, padding across the room and unceremoniously dropping down on the couch with them, draping her legs across their laps. Rhys lifted the bowl without prompting, too used to this, too. 

“Now, it couldn’t have been that bad,” he patted her knee with a mock sympathy, and she swatted his hand away, sending him a dirty look.

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You’re not the one who had to spend the entire day walking in some torture device.”

“My point stands,” Rhys shrugged as Vaughn turned on the TV, wisely staying out of their bickering. “Couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You,” Yvette poked him with a sharp-nailed finger, eyes narrowing over the rim of her glasses, “are walking on a thin ice. I’m this close to regretting taking them off just because now I can’t stab you with one of those heels.”

“Yeah, bro, back off,” Vaughn said, bumping him with a shoulder. “I’d hate it if you died from a stiletto heel a few days before the rent is due.”

Rhys blinked, any and all protests to the movie that Vaughn had selected on the screen dying on his tongue.

“You know what, I don’t even know which I find more offensive – that you actually just rated the way I should die or that you only care about the rent.”

“I’d hate it if you died, period. It’s just that if you did it now, it would be really inconvenient, you know? Nothing personal, bro.”

“Yeah, Rhys, nothing personal,” Yvette joined in, groaning as Vaughn started to massage her feet. “Just shut up and watch the damn movie, because last I’ve heard, it was a movie night. Oh, and while we’re at it, it’s your turn to order take-out, so could you maybe do that before the movie? I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Rhys grumbled and jolted her legs just because. “Wasn’t it your turn, though? I’m pretty sure it was Vaughn’s last week, and mine the week before that.” 

“Mm-hm. But then you had to be a brat, so now it’s your turn again.”

“Hey!” he knew better than to argue with her, of course, she’d just come up with another argument, but still. “I wasn’t ‘being a brat’! I just don’t see how bad it could be to spend the day in those heels. Why wear them, anyway, if you hate it so much?”

“Because, Rhys, not all of us were gifted with miles of legs,” she sneered. “ _Some_ of us have to find other ways to stand out.”

Rhys lifted his mechanical arm and waved in the air a little.

“Right. Because I totally didn’t give up my arm and eye to stand out. Gotcha. If only I knew that all I had to do was walk around Helios on heels, wow, Yvette, where had you been when I signed up for the surgery?”

“I was right there, dummy, telling you that you were being an idiot. Must’ve lost those memories when they cut out a good chunk of your brains, I guess, which really is a shame, because now I can’t even say ‘told you so’. Maybe you really should’ve just stuck to wearing the heels instead.”

“Hey, don’t mind me, but I just wanna say for the record, before this inevitably escalates to a bet, that I’m so not going to massage your feet for you when you accept and then come home crying, bro. I love you and everything, but this is just… no.”

“Cold, bro,” Rhys recoiled back, shaking his head. “Cold.”

“Hm,” Yvette said at the same time, the look in her eyes losing some of its heat and becoming more calculating. “You know what? Vaughn has a point, let’s make a bet out of it. I bet you can’t spend the whole day at work wearing stilettos, and even if you somehow manage to do it – at least you won’t be asking stupid questions anymore.”

“Sounds like you win either way,” Rhys sniffed. “That’s not exactly convincing, you know. Let’s say… if I do it, you’re buying our lunches for the next month?”

“Har-har,” Yvette reached out and pinched his ear before he had a chance to dodge. “As if.”

“Ow! Hey, you said it was hard, not me!”

“And yet I do it every day, and you’re only going to do it once for the bet,” she pinned him with a stare. “I’m ordering pizza the next movie night, and that’s it.”

“You’ve missed, like, three turns, it doesn’t count!”

“Yes it does!”

“No it doesn’t,” Vaughn singsonged, snickering and holding her feet fast, avoiding being kicked. 

“You’re ordering take-out for our movie nights for the next month,” Rhys said smugly and raised a finger just as Yvette opened her mouth to protest. “Come on, that’s just fair. It’s only four movie nights, and you owe us anyway, so it’s not even worth a bet.”

Yvette remained silent for a long, long moment, and Rhys and Vaughn both held their breaths.

“Fine,” she grumbled at last. “But only because I want you to suffer, and I don’t believe that you could actually do it.”

“You’re on,” Rhys retorted gleefully, delighting in the way her eyes became doubtful for the first time that evening. “Better get your wallet ready, because trust me–it’s going to take quite a hit.”

..::..::..::..

In hindsight, it might have been not the brightest idea Rhys ever had.

(And given the amount of bad ideas he got, that was saying something.)

It wasn’t even that Rhys wobbled on his heels or felt uncomfortable – what Yvette didn’t know, and what he wasn’t going to tell her, was that it was far from the first time he donned a pair. He knew how to walk around on stilettos just fine, thank you very much, and still didn’t get what the fuss was all about – sure, it was no slippers, but to overreact like Yvette did, the heels had to be at least two sizes smaller than needed, or just badly fitted, because really, it wasn’t that bad.

The problem, however, weren’t the stilettos themselves; the problem was his work, or rather, who he worked with. 

Had he still been in data mining, he could’ve probably pulled it off for the whole day with none being the wiser – his former colleagues have never been the most attentive to the details folk. Act just as usual, keep a straight face, and even should anyone notice the clatter of heels or that he seems to be taller, chances are they won’t realize what has changed about him.

But that had been before his career path took a sudden turn, tossing him from the dispensable middle management to the personal assistant to the big boss himself.

And sure, Handsome Jack could be neglectful, but he sure as hell was _very_ attentive to the details. If he noticed that something was amiss, he’d know immediately; there was a slim chance that he wouldn’t care about any changes in Rhys’ appearance, but Rhys wouldn’t count on that—Jack zeroing in on his outfit choice of the day and never letting him hear the end of it for the rest of his work was much, much more likely. 

Worst of all, there was no predicting his reaction. He could find it funny as hell, make Rhys jump for the hell of it, or maybe strut like a model, or do some other stupid shit Jack would think up for the occasion; he could find it ridiculous and sneer at Rhys, call him all kinds of dirty names, make him feel pathetic and worthless. Jack could even find it offensive, probably, say that Rhys is mocking him by looking like that, or that Rhys must have far too much free time and that he could change that.

Basically, his reaction could be anything from ignorance to mockery to killing Rhys on the spot because he hated the way his stilettos clattered on the metal floor.

Still, Rhys was no quitter. He made his proverbial bed; now it was time to lay in it.

Luck seemed to be on his side that day – Jack had been on an unscheduled meeting with the board when Rhys came in, probably killing some traitors or something, as was the usual with any unscheduled meetings that he issued himself, disregarding Rhys’ orderly work. That meant both that Rhys had a chance to walk around the office without being noticed right away and sit down, hiding behind his desk, where Jack had no way of seeing his feet, and that Jack would most likely be in good spirits afterwards – so hopefully his streak of being the most long-living PA to Jack wasn’t in danger.

Jack came almost an hour after him, successfully fucking up his day schedule to Rhys’ annoyance, but was, in fact, in good spirits.

“Man, those assholes are really trying my patience,” he complained, dropping down to his atrocious yellow chair and throwing his legs up on his desk. Rhys could see the red stains on the soles of his boots, and it was alarming how little he cared anymore. “We really should just abolish the whole board. Who needs them anyway?”

“Let me guess,” Rhys huffed, already getting up to make Jack some coffee, the ritual more of instinct now than a conscious action. “It’s easier to abolish the rest of it now than find new members to replace the ones you cleared out today?”

“Pretty _and_ smart,” Jack hummed, squinting at him as Rhys walked closer and put the cup in front of him. “Knew I was right to like you.”

Rhys didn’t fluster as easily now as he used to at the beginning – Jack dropped compliments that bordered on sexual harassment like it was a second nature to him, but rarely meant anything by them; he probably didn’t even notice, or did it intentionally to get a raise of people. At first it made Rhys blush like mad, stutter and stumble, which never failed to make Jack cackle at his reaction; as the time went by, and Rhys still didn’t get up and personal with the airlock, breaking the previous PA’s record of seven months, he got… less emotional (and less hopeful, although he’d rather airlock himself than admit it) about those quips, and without his flustered response Jack seemed to lose most of the interest in them as well.

Still, as he continued to squint at Rhys, frowning softly and pursing his lips like he was trying to solve some puzzle, Rhys felt himself growing hot.

“Something on my face?” he asked as evenly as he could manage, and Jack scowled, shaking his head and dismissing him with a wave of hand, grabbing his coffee and activating the screens over his desk.

It was hard to walk silently on the six inch stiletto heels, but Rhys managed, walking back to his desk without making a single noise.

When he sat down, Jack was staring at him again, eyes narrowed and calculating, but mostly confused; Rhys arched an eyebrow questioningly, and Jack flipped him off with a grumble.

So. 

Jack certainly did notice, but had yet to find what exactly. 

Rhys let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling ridiculous for being so self-conscious; not once had he felt this insecure when wearing the heels, never caring about the others’ reactions or nasty words that might’ve got him.

He told himself that this time was different because worst case scenario with Jack wasn’t just being humiliated, but ending up flying dead in space; that must have been it.

One hour down, a lot more to go. Hopefully, he could remain hidden behind his desk for the rest of his day, wait until Jack left and then walk to Yvette’s office, meeting up with her before their weekly movie night and making sure she didn’t forget her wallet at work as she was prone to.

“Hey, did you get taller?”

His eyes darted back to Jack, who was squinting at him again, and he swallowed.

“Nevermind,” Jack snapped, clearly annoyed both with him for being so puzzling today (totally Rhys’ fault, right) and with himself for not being able to solve the mystery of his PA.

This was going to be a long day. Longer than Rhys anticipated, for sure.

..::..::..::..

The day _was_ long, but is was also busy, and not only for Rhys, so the issue of his footwear, surprisingly enough, remained the last thing on his mind for the time being after the initial scare. Jack, for his part, seemed either to forget all about it, or was simply too involved in more important day to day things to ponder it further – and not like he had much time to bother Rhys about it, what with his next meeting being interrupted by an accident in R&D that resulted in a giant hole in the floor of the next conference hall to the one his meeting took place in. Naturally, Jack wasn’t happy about that, or the several creatures that managed to escape through the said hole, and the rest of his day was spent on a bloody rampage, hunting down both the terrifying creatures and the scientists responsible for the accident.

Rhys couldn’t make himself feel sorry for either.

All in all, just another Friday.

The end of his working hours found him still blissfully alone at the huge office, no sign of Jack coming back anytime soon and no new messages from him for the past fifteen minutes – which, hopefully, meant that Jack was done with his day as well. Rhys took the opportunity to walk around the office at his leisure, setting up the papers and ECHOs that Jack would need first thing on Monday and cleaning up the mess that accumulated on his table.

He was just taking the last of the empty coffee mugs away when the large doors slammed open and then shut, announcing the appearance of the president.

The silence that followed was thick and oppressive.

Rhys swallowed hard, not daring to turn around and face the man yet. 

“What,” Jack finally growled, moving closer, the sound of his steps heavy and deliberate, “the _actual_ fuck, Rhysie.”

He stopped again, almost stumbled by the sound of it, and Rhys finally huffed out a breath, putting the mugs down – he wasn’t sure if he was going to be killed for this, but he sure as hell wasn’t risking upping his chances by accidentally dropping down and breaking Jack’s favorite hideous yellow mug. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, straightening to his full height and turning around, arms crossed over his chest.

But neither his posture, nor his (hopefully) innocent uncomprehending stare hit the mark – apparently, Jack couldn’t care less about his face, his eyes firmly glued to Rhys’ feet.

He stopped at some distance so that he could take him in fully, Rhys realized with a start. As soon as that realization hit, Jack’s eyes snapped up, almost like he could somehow read his thoughts.

The look in his eyes was—

“You’ve been walking around _like that_ for the whole damn day?”

—predatory.

That, incidentally, was also the way he all but prowled closer now, the specks of blood on his mask and his clothes only helping the impression.

Embarrassingly enough, Rhys stumbled, forgetting that he had nowhere to run for the brief moment it took Jack to close the distance between them and slam his hands down on the desk, caging Rhys in and grinning wildly.

And then he purred.

“Damn, kitten, never thought you had it in you. Not just the freaking heels—the whole ‘being a fucking tease who wouldn’t even show ‘em’ thing,” he chuckled darkly, leaning in so close that Rhys went a little cross-eyed just trying to look him in the face – and despite being taller than Jack by several inches now, he still felt the man towering over him, his presence overwhelming like that. 

He could feel Jack’s breath on his lips. He looked down, unbidden, before he caught himself, staring at Jack’s – and of course Jack noticed, his grin growing sharper and his hands drawing closer to where Rhys’ hips were pressed against the edge of the desk.

“So?” Jack whispered hotly. “That for me?”

Rhys might’ve never had enough sense of self-preservation – what with working for Hyperion, let alone for Handsome Jack himself – but even he knew better than trying to explain the real reasons behind his outfit.

Perhaps because this had very little to do with self-preservation and everything – with his crush waiting for his answer with a suggestive grin.

“I take it you like it, then?” he muttered back, lowering his eyelashes coyly and even went as far as to lick his lips – or would have, had Jack not yanked him by the collar and crushed their mouths together in a violent approximation of a kiss.

It was hot, it was wild, it left exactly zero doubts of who was in control—Rhys, since it was him who made Jack lose his goddamn mind like this—and it was everything Rhys has ever wanted and then some. For a brief moment it felt so much like one of his vivid dreams that he felt light-headed, but then Jack finally pulled away, and a gulp of much needed air helped him focus a little. 

In his dreams, they both would’ve been naked by now, and he would’ve already been on his knees, sucking Jack down like his life depended on it; since they’ve both been still very much dressed, regrettably, it must have been a reality.

And then Jack grabbed him by his thighs and lifted, just enough to drop him down on the desk, the mugs rattling dangerously where Rhys put them.

“Didn’t really get to look enough to decide if I like it,” Jack hummed, sliding his hand (so freaking big against Rhys’ thigh it looked indecent, just the sight of it sent shivers down his back) down before grabbing Rhys’ leg behind the knee and pushing it up.

Rhys leant into it easily, allowing Jack to press his knee almost up against his shoulder, shamelessly showing off his flexibility and preening at the way Jack’s eyes darkened. He traced his fingertips against the pointed tip of one heel and then up, caressing the arch of Rhys’ foot almost tenderly.

“You,” Jack said, running his palm over Rhys’ calf now, “are _something else_ , Rhysie. Couldn’t have imagined a better way to finish a day like this.”

“Oh yeah?” Rhys smiled and wrapped another leg around Jack’s hip, tugging him closer and arching his hips—the feeling of Jack’s hard length against his own rapidly stiffening cock sent an electric current down his spine. “If only I knew that this is what it takes to unwind you after a long day…”

“Shut up before I make this your permanent dress-code.”

Rhys grinned, wide and cocky, and leaned in, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders.

“Make me,” he whispered in his ear.

..::..::..::..

“What took you so—”

Rhys grinned, shutting the door behind himself and only wavering a little as he strolled to the couch. The heels had very little part in his staggering gait, but he couldn’t care less if that’s what his friends thought—he won the bet fair and square, and he won so much more than just a few free meals.

Yvette gaped at his feet, and only then did he notice that she had a pair of her own dangling in one hand.

“I thought you forgot about our bet,” she muttered with a scowl. “Was going to remind you and lend you a pair…”

“Nah, thanks, I’ve got it,” Rhys shot back, dropping down on the couch with a small wince and stretching, sore muscles singing pleasantly. “But I wouldn’t mind borrowing some stockings for the next time.”

Because there was no way in hell he was letting Jack ruin another pair of his, he thought lazily, muting out both his friends’ inquiries and disgusted exclamations once they realized what must’ve happened.

Yeah. He’d been right all along – it wasn’t that bad.

Quite the opposite, in fact.


End file.
